"DARK APC" is a short tribute returned in fabulous small elementary generator that is Atari Punk onsole. No complicated synthesis here, nor big polyphonic synthesizers, just an APC and some home-made effects to glorify the simplicity and the purity of this small machine.This performance was realized in a single taking and without the use of computer.

What will be the last stage of this progress, the extreme point of the solitude of a fictitious existence? Where to live then when the foundations will collapse? Will the spirit once languish the found peace?

Thus throw in the well of fire your failures and your ecstasies, your paradoxes and your dead ends to face the chamber of larvas. Sharpen yours destructive appetite on the road of springs by avoiding carefully the serene darkness, if you don't wish to finish in the shadowy gaols.

You will may lengthen, squat, prostrate yourselves: you will be alone to have to assume(accept) the incredible cruelty which will follow inevitably!

That the one who looks is always in search until he finds and when he will have found, he will be in the confusion, having been found, he will be amazed, he will reign over the Whole.

SPECUS 13 : CAEDES

The paths of punishments leading to the redemption are blocked by perverse and roaming thoughts which will try to hijack you from yours purpose. We begged you to forget your obsessions, to change path, to become other, to break with this quest of forgiveness. The illusion gives birth and supports this world. The truth is only the fruit of the evil provoked by the emphasis, by the recurrence, by the endless return which touches the last depths of the human psyche. Become prisoner of this lucidity, you will be lynched to be incapable to assume the risk of an illusion .At this moment you will have weapons necessity to lead this immense massacre?

Apocrypha manuscripts deliver us in detail the mechanisms of the anxiety to exist. The sigh burning darkness abyssal attacks my faith as a high-powered acid. My crust cracked under so much power, letting pass by through crackles, The viscous and bitter wine of the countries of the boredom.

The poor leathery meat might cry, nothing is forgiven her for all that. She dragged itself, loser, among fragments scattered by her souvenirs, Accompanied with the languishing, endless and monotonous song, That the lady in forgery draped in a starry sky and without the moon intoned.

Sad discovery, this morning, in the house of this person without history... Of this person whose name will never be burnt in the history.